Odel and The Gypsy
by Swallow B
Summary: Somewhere on the outskirts of Jerusalem, little Odel meets a mysterious stranger known as The Gypsy. An experiment : how would my favourite HP character fit in the world in which I live?


Odel and The Gypsy

Disclaimer : The Gypsy, aka Severus Snape, of course, belongs to JK Rowling.

The idea for this story is from 'My Journal about my Life with Stephen and Miranda', by Kelly Chambliss.

ooo

Every morning, as Odel Schwartz walked over to wait for the school bus on the corner, she had to pass by The Gypsy's house. She wasn't the only one. Odel lived in a large apartment building in a Jerusalem suburb, with a lot of families with a lot of children. That made it better. It was comforting to have company when you crossed The Gypsy's house.

The Gypsy's house was a small annex crouching next to the building, like an afterthought. No one knew exactly what it had been meant for in the beginning, but now it was most often rented by poor people who lived alone. Strange people they were, too. Before The Gypsy, the little house on the corner had been inhabited by an old woman from America, who didn't cover her hair. She looked like a witch. She was more or less tolerated because she showed up at the synagogue everyday and seemed to have her nose constantly buried in a prayer book. The bravest and most liberal families invited her to their homes for the Sabbath. Odel's parents were quite proud they had had her over a few times themselves. The old lady was called Mindy. She spoke with an accent. She kept telling Odel how beautiful she was.

Then she died and The Gypsy had taken her place. If Mindy had looked like a witch and intimidated the children, it was nothing to what The Gypsy was like.

People called him The Gypsy, because no one knew for sure if he was Jewish. He never came to the synagogue. He kept very much to himself, though he had been seen consorting with rabbi Goldstein, the Kabbalistic rabbi. It was even rumored that it was thanks to rabbi Goldstein that The Gypsy had got the small appartment.

Rabbi Goldstein was slightly unconventional, yet he was respected for his wisdom and extensive knowledge of the Kabbalah, the hidden Torah. He was a mild-mannered grandfatherly type who had a sense of humour and a twinkle in the eye. There was no way rabbi Goldstein could be suspected of studying with a heretic and yet he had been seen poring over old dusty books with The Gypsy. This was enough to make The Gypsy nearly kosher. Perhaps he wasn't a Gypsy at all, but no one knew his name and they said he looked like a Gypsy with his long black hair and crooked nose. He dressed like everyone else, in a black suit, something looked unnatural in the way he wore it. More importantly, he didn't seem to cover his head.

Respected members of the community had made the remark to rabbi Goldstein, who chuckled and said ,

"Of course he covers his head. You haven't looked properly."

The respected members of the community and their wives had looked again and indeed, they noticed The Gypsy was wearing a black yarmulke that was almost invisible on his black hair.

Maybe he wasn't a Gypsy, after all. But the name stuck.

ooo

That morning, Odel was late. later than usual, later than the latest stragglers, such as the Luftman children whose mother could never get her act together.

It wasn't Odel's fault. Mummy was in hospital having a new baby. The baby had come earlier than expected and everything was in disarray. The neighbours' teen-age daughter, Sari, had been rushed in to take care of Odel's younger brother and sister, but she didn't know the house and had no idea where anything was. To make things worse, two-year-old Avrumi had lost his dummy and a search had had to be launched to stop him screaming.

That was why Odel was late.

That was why she found herself having to run alone past The Gipsy's house, her long dark red braid flying behind her.

She was running because she was late, but also because she was terrified. The Gypsy often appeared in her nightmares. She saw herself in a dungeon, like the ones she had heard about in the stories about the Inquisition. A door would open in a torch-lit dark tunnel and The Gypsy would come out of a creepy room, wearing a strange-looking cloak. Or she would be in a forest, like the children in the stories about the war in Europe and The Gypsy would suddenly pounce at her from behind a tree. Odel would scream and wake up and then she would have trouble falling asleep again. And sometimes it was even worse. Sometimes she couldn't even scream, her voice got stuck...

What if The Gypsy came out to her now?

She ran, willing herself not to look at The Gypsy's house. The yellow school bus was arriving. It stopped on the corner and the little girls in school uniform scrambled aboard. It would take them time to all get on. Odel could still make it.

For a moment in her frantic rush, she had forgotten about the Gypsy's house.

Until, wham, she found herself flat on the stony ground. Her nose had hit a rock and blood was oozing all over her blue school shirt. What would Mummy say? But Mummy was in hospital and... The yellow bus was driving off. Tears mixed with the blood on Odel's face and shirt. Her schoolbag had been catapulted out of her reach and school books were pouring out into the dust.

Odel tried to get up.

"Ow !"

She fell back on the ground. Something had happened to her ankle. She couldn't stand on it. It hurt as it had never hurt before. Of all days that this could have happened, it had had to happen when Mummy was having a baby. And of all places, in front of The Gipsy's house.

Odel hid her head in her hands and sobbed.

ooo

"Little girl," said a voice in English.

Odel's head shot out of her opened her mouth to scream, but it was as in one of her worst nightmares, the ones in which she couldn't find her voice. She hoped she would wake up now and all would be all right.

Except that she didn't and The Gypsy was bending over her, his long greasy hair almost touching her face. Yuk. She tried to move away, but pain soared from her ankle up her leg. She couldn't scream and she couldn't move. All she could do was cry.

"Are you hurt?" said The Gipsy.

He spoke English. Happily, Odel understood. She was lucky, she had an English mother. English, from England, from Manchester. Mummy spoke English to her children because she thought it would be useful to them.

It certainly was now.

Odel gulped and nodded.

"Where does it hurt?"

The Gypsy's voice was quiet. It couldn't actually be qualified as soft, but it had something soothing to it. Odel pointed to her ankle.

"I see."

The Gypsy bent down and lifted Odel up. Odel thought she was going to be sick. Surprisingly, a soothing scent of peppermint enveloped her. The Gypsy gathered Odel's schoolbag in a swish and carried her into his house. Odel tried to feel frightened, but oddly, she couldn't. She had a feeling it had to do with the peppermint. Odel liked peppermint. Mummy always gave her peppermint tea with honey when her throat was sore. Her throat was very tight now, but she couldn't cry on The Gypsy's shoulder, yuk. So she swallowed back her tears and that made her throat even tighter.

The Gypsy put her down in a chair and settled her injured ankle on a plastic stool. She moaned. The Gypsy pulled a neatly folded piece of dark green cloth out of his pocket and handed it to her. She took it hesitantly. Why was he giving her this?

"Wipe your face," he said, rather impatiently.

In a cloth?

"It'll make it dirty," she stammered. "I' m bleeding."

"I see that," said The Gypsy. A strange, but rather nice sort of half-smile was fighting its way on his face.

Odel wiped her face. Her braid had come undone and strands of long auburn hair were stuck to her cheek. It really did make the cloth dirty, but The Gypsy didn't seem to care. He was examining her ankle.

"It's sprained," he said. "Nothing to worry about."

"I can't walk." Odel choked, remembering she couldn't run away.

"I'll take care of it," said The Gypsy.

"Are you a doctor?"

"Let's say I know about these things."

Odel remembered The Gypsy spent time studying with with rabbi Goldstein. He probably knew a lot of things. She relaxed a little.

"Close your eyes."

Close her eyes in The Gypsy's house? Wait, what was it Gypsies were supposed to do to do to children? Kidnap them?

"Close your eyes, I said. There is no reason to be frightened," he added impatiently. He plunged his black eyes into hers. She shuddered. " I am not going to kidnap you. I have no use for children... and I am not a Gypsy, " he added after reflection.

"Then who are you?" she blurted out.

He looked at her in silence, as if wondering what to answer.

"I came from England," he said at last. "There is a war there. You know about war, don't you?"

Odel knew about war.

"But there hasn't been a war in England, not since before Mummy was born."

"It is a secret war."

Odel opened wide eyes.

"You see, I am a refugee. You know what a refugee is ?"

Odel nodded.

"Your family died in the war?"

As soon as she had said that, she knew she shouldn't have. The Gypsy suddenly looked a lot less friendly.

"Close your eyes."

Odel obeyed.

Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then she felt a tingling in her ankle, where the pain had been. She tried to open her eyes, but, as sometimes happened in her nightmares, they wouldn't open.

"Don't fidget."

Her ankle continued to tingle. The tingling spread to her foot and leg and further up, until it filled her whole body. It was a strange, but comforting feeling.. She didn't want to open her eyes any more.

ooo

When Odel woke up, she was lying on The Gypsy's bed. The sheets smelt of peppermint too. The Gypsy was busy at the kitchen sink, or rather the sink, as The Gypsy's house had only one room. He had his back to her and he was doing something with bottles.

As she wondered if she should say something to let him know she was awake, she heard him muttering. She couldn't make any sense of the words that came out of his mouth. All she knew was that they were not in English... nor in Hebrew, Yiddish, Arabic or Aramaic. Not in any language she could recognise.

"You're not from England," she said.

Clang-tinkle. One of the bottles had crashed. A foul smell of... ugh... what could that be? worse than rotten eggs... filled the room. The Gypsy whipped around, his eyes flashing with anger.

"Look what you have done, you dunderheaded little-"

Odel burst into tears. The Gypsy took a deep breath, reached for another bottle on a shelf and poured its contents into the sink. The smell disappeared.

"You'd better go home."

"I can't walk."

"Yes, you can."

Could she? Odel sat up and tentatively put her bare foot onto the tiled floor. It looked all right, not a bit swollen. It didn't hurt. Cautiously, she pulled herself up. She could walk. It was as if nothing had happened.

But something had. Odel wasn't afraid of the Gypsy any more.

"Thank you," she said shyly. "Er, excuse me, what's your name?"

"My name?"

For a moment, the man looked as if he had forgotten it.

"Stern," he muttered at last.

"Thank you, Mr Stern."

As soon as she was out of the house, Odel began to skip.

ooo

Odel had a new baby brother who was circumcised eight days later. In the excitement, no one paid much attention to her tale of why she had missed school and how The Gypsy, who wasn't a Gypsy and who was called Mr Stern, had healed her ankle.

It was only much later that people noticed that Odel wasn't afraid of walking in front of the little house on the corner any more and that she always greeted The Gypsy with a "Shalom, Mr Stern !" accompanied by a big smile. Mr Stern answered with an unsmiling, but not unfriendly nod.

When Odel's parents finally did notice, they lectured her about talking to strangers. She was forbidden to speak to Mr Stern. When she met him, she nodded to him awkwardly and ran away.

Odel's birthday was coming, but, for some reason, it didn't make her feel happy.

ooo

On the night before her birthday, Odel had a dream. Not a nightmare, this time, a nice dream. She dreamed that a doe jumped in through her bedroom window in the middle of the night. It had to be a dream, for how could a doe jump up to the fourth floor? And it didn't look real. It was made of silver light, a bit like a firework without the bang and it lingered much longer than fireworks do.

Odel sat up and reached out top at the doe, but removed her hand quickly in surprise.

The doe had spoken. Not only had it spoken, it spoke with Mr Stern's deep low voice.

"I have to leave, little girl."

Odel realised Mr Stern had never asked what her name was.

"I came to say goodbye."

"I am not allowed to talk to you."

"I know. It's all for the best. Goodbye and happy birthday."

The doe disappeared.

It was a funny dream. Odel felt as if she was wide awake and couldn't go back to sleep for a long time. And she felt happy and sad at once.

ooo

Odel had a birthday party at school, with a cake, sweets, songs and blessings. Now she was eight. Life goes on.

"You have a parcel from England," Mummy told Odel as she got back from school."It must be from Grandma, but there's no name on it. That's strange. Didn't Grandma send you the pretty dress she knitted for your birthday?"

Odel tore the parcel open. It was a book called 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone'.

Odel 's father snatched the book out of her hands and looked at it suspiciously.

"What's that?" he asked Odel's mother. Odel's father didn't read English.

"It's only a book !" cried Odel in frustration. She loved books and this one looked enticing. It had gold stars on the cover.

"No book is 'only a book'," said Odel's father, frowning. "Books can be dangerous."

"I'll read it first," said Odel's mother, opening it eagerly. "Look, someone drew a little doe on the front page. I wonder who did that."

ooo

Odel's mother read 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone'. Then she read all the other Harry Potter books.

And then she locked herself in her room with a pen and a notebook.


End file.
